Almost Easy
by AshletD
Summary: As Bella prepares to begin her marriage to Edward, she contemplates all that she'll be leaving behind.  Set post-Eclipse.


**I wrote this while I was supposed to be working on my multi-chapter fic. It just popped into my head and wouldn't go away.**

**Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight; I own nothing except this little idea.**

Bella Swan ends the day before her impending marriage to Edward Cullen by performing the same ritual that has concluded all her other days that summer- she crosses off the date on her wall calendar. She feels a twinge of guilt as she draws a big red X over the square, as if she is committing some minor betrayal against her soon-to-be husband. She knows she wouldn't feel this way if she were counting down the days until their wedding, or until the day she is to be turned. But she marks the passage of time for quite a different reason, one that has nothing to do with Edward at all.

It's been exactly two months and five days since she last saw Jacob Black.

She hasn't stopped thinking of him since the last time she spoke to him, when she sat at his bedside after the newborn battle and broke his heart. Again. Now he's gone, and she can't say she blames him, even if she misses him with every cell of her own splintered heart. She knows it will never be whole again, not when a piece of it will forever belong to the dark-haired boy who has saved her life so many times, who kept her afloat when she was drowning.

Of course, she tells Edward none of this.

Bella's nights have become tedious and nerve-wracking affairs. She can't think of any plausible reason to deny Edward his usual place at her side as she sleeps, and so she spends each evening praying to whatever deity will listen that _his _name won't cross her lips while she slumbers.

If it does, Edward doesn't mention it.

Tonight she doesn't have to worry. Tonight Edward is gone on his "bachelor party" (just a euphemism for a precautionary pre-wedding hunting trip) and she is alone in her room, free to sleep without fear. She slides between the sheets, surprised at how warm she feels in the absence of Edward's cool marble flesh. She falls asleep much easier than usual, and as she sleeps, she dreams.

She doesn't dream of her wedding, or her honeymoon, or what the rest of her life (her _eternity_) will be like with Edward. Instead she dreams of grease-stained garage floors and warm sodas, of bear-hugs and sunshine, of dark eyes and silky black hair, of soft lips and warm, calloused hands.

She dreams of _him- _her Jacob.

And wakes with tears drying on her cheeks.

Bella stands before a mirror in an upstairs bedroom of the Cullen house, while Alice fusses with her train and Rosalie makes last minute adjustments to her hair. Renee has already gone downstairs to be seated with the other guests and Charlie stands just outside the door, waiting to escort her down the aisle. She knows that this should be the happiest day of her life, but the most vibrant emotion she can conjure up is an increasing sense of _dread. _

She thinks about her parents, and her friends, and how she'll have to say goodbye soon, not just for a few weeks but _forever. _She's leaving so much behind, so many people that she loves, and she wants to believe that she's made the right decision but she's not sure anymore. She loves Edward, that much she does know, but he doesn't own her whole heart the way he used to. The part of her heart that will always belong to _him _thumps painfully in protest of the commitment she's about to make.

Alice notices the tears that are gathering in the corners of her eyes and warns her not to run her makeup. As they head toward the door, Bella's eyes meet Rosalie's over the top of Alice's head, and the look she encounters there is sad and somehow bitterly sympathetic. And she thinks, Rosalie _knows._

She tries to force emotion into her vows as she stares into Edward's eyes (which are light butterscotch, he fed well last night) but she can't help but sound slightly robotic as she parrots the minister's words about honoring and cherishing. When Edward presses his cool, stone-hard lips to hers, she tries to enjoy the kiss the way she used to, instead of remembering other lips, _warm_ lips that were soft and pliant and molded to hers in ways that were new and exciting.

When she meets Edward's fiercely happy gaze, _both _parts of her heart agonize in unison.

The reception is a blur, a slow whirlwind of music and voices and the clink of silverware against china, and Bella lets Edward lead her through dance after dance without worrying that she'll trip over her own feet. At this point she gives little thought to the minor embarrassment such an action would bring. She smiles when necessary, responds appropriately when someone asks her a question or offers congratulations, and tries not to think about the fact _he _never showed up, when she never expected him to in the first place. She tries to remind herself that she's supposed to be _happy._

She's so consumed with trying to act blissful that she doesn't notice when Edward dances her to the edge of the trees, and the deep voice that calls from the darkness shocks her down to her core.

"Hi, Bells."

"Jacob!" she gasps, and hopes that her face doesn't betray her. She tries to stop the wide smile, the first _real _smile she's worn all day, but it stretches across her face so wide she fears her skin will crack. Then she's in his arms and somehow they're dancing in the trees, so far from the yard that they can barely hear the music, and he's warm and alive and this feels _right,_ it feel _perfect, _and the part of her heart that belongs to him thrums happily in her chest.

She wants to tell him how much she's missed him, how she's thought of him every day and dreamed of him every night, but she's never been good at saying what she means and tonight is no exception. Instead she finds herself babbling about her honeymoon and she's not even sure what she's saying when suddenly Jacob's eyes darken in rage and he starts to shake, the tremors racing up and down his arms as he tries to hold himself together.

And too late Bella realizes what set him off so badly- she'd said she was going to have a _real_ honeymoon. Her eyes widen as wonders at her own stupidity, and then Edward's arms are around her like an iron cage, pulling her back, and Jacob is being nudged into the trees by a group of wolves, his form fading into the blackness. _Wait wait __**wait**_, her mind screams, but she can't force the words out. He's gone before she can do anything about it, and somehow the reception goes on and she continues playing the part, everyone around her oblivious.

And the halves of her heart are warring again.

The house on Isle Esme is breathtakingly beautiful. Once upon a time it would have been everything Bella could have dreamed of in a perfect honeymoon retreat. Now she notices its splendor in a detached way as she stands in the middle of the bedroom looking down at her open suitcase. She sifts through the mounds of delicate satin and lace, lingerie that Alice insisted on packing for her, and wonders idly why it seems that women's apparel becomes more expensive the less fabric that is used. She briefly considers putting on one of the garments, then closes the suitcase and heads to the bathroom to take a shower instead.

The warm water cascading down her back does little to settle her nerves or calm her racing brain, and when she steps out of the shower and stares at herself in the foggy mirror she knows she has to make a decision. Edward is waiting for her out in the water, has been for some time now, and she knows that she can either step out onto the sand as she is now and make love to her husband, or she can get dressed, pack her things, and choose to go home, choose to _live. _

She thinks of the future she will have with Edward, the future she once strived so hard to obtain. She thinks of staying frozen in time, eternally eighteen, the years passing her by without leaving a single mark. She tries to imagine staying inside on sunny days, trying to fill hours and hours of time without sleep, endlessly repeating high school. She tries to picture how she'll look with vibrant red eyes, how she'll feel when the thirst burns her throat. She ponders the fact that she'll still be around, long after everyone she cares about is dead.

And she realizes that she doesn't want anything to do with that future. She doesn't want forever. She want to _live._

She wants birthdays and holidays, mortgages and car payments, PTA meetings and little league games, skinned knees and scraped elbows, happiness, heartache, birth, death, _life. _She wants it all. And the man waiting for her out in the water, her husband, can give her none of those things.

The one who can, the one who will always own part of her heart, who can own all of it if she lets him, _her Jacob_, is thousands of miles away.

When Bella steps onto the sand she's wearing jeans and her favorite t-shirt. She looks out at the water and can just barely make out Edward, standing waist-deep in the waves. His back is to her, and his white skin is faintly luminous in the moonlight. He truly is beautiful, but his beauty has no place in the real world, in _her_ world, and she realizes that now. The _Edward _piece of her heart screams in protest at what she's about to do, but she knows she's making the right decision this time. She's finally found the strength to let him go.

"Edward, I can't do this," she says. She knows he can hear her.

He turns toward her, hurrying back to the sand at a speed somewhere between vampire and human. He reaches her and she casts her eyes aside, but he slips his pants back on before she can blink.

"It's okay, love," he says soothingly, and she realizes he doesn't understand. "We can wait until after you're turned, it's better that way. Or if you've reconsidered that too, we can always-"

"No, Edward. I mean, I can't _do this._"

Edward stares at her for a moment as comprehension dawns. Pain flickers across his features briefly, and he lowers his gaze to the sand. "Ah, I see."

As sure as she is of what's she's doing, Bella still hates hurting him. "I'm so sorry."

He looks up again, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It's because of him, isn't it," he says, and there's no accusation in his tone, only statement of fact.

"Yes." Bella offers him what little she can. "I do love you, Edward." In spite of everything, it's still true. She will always love him, even if it's not in the same way.

"I know," he says. "But you love him more."

She can't deny it, not now. She's not sure how she ever did, how she managed to lie to herself for so long. Jacob knew, he always knew.

She removes the ring from her left hand and gently places it in Edward's, folding his fingers around it before stepping into his chilly embrace one last time.

It's daylight when he drops her off at Charlie's house, leaving her with a light kiss on the cheek before his Volvo disappears into the distance. They've already said their goodbyes.

Charlie is at work and although she wants to see him, Bella is glad that he isn't home and that explanations can be saved for later. She gets in her car, wishing for the hundredth time for her old truck, although she knows that the Guardian will get her where she's going that much faster.

She drives to La Push as quickly as she dares.

The little red house looks deserted when she pulls up, and her heart sinks. She realizes she should have thought of calling first, but she was in such a hurry that it never occurred to her. She wonders if Jacob is even nearby, or if the events of the wedding caused him to leave again. The idea of waiting to see him, of not knowing when or even _if _she'll see him, is too much for her to bear.

She knocks on the front door and waits, and with every second that passes she grows more and more anxious. Just as she's about to give up and leave, she hears a faint noise coming from the garage, and she mentally smacks herself for not thinking of it sooner. Of course, if he were home, that's where Jacob would be.

The door is partially open, and she slips inside and pauses for a moment to savor the sights and sounds that have been calling to her so strongly. The scent of grease and motor oil, the concrete floor littered with car parts and various tools, the semi-gloom, the mustiness, and in the middle of it all, Jacob.

He stands with his back to her, bent over the Rabbit's engine and staring at something intently. When she finally speaks, a faint "Hi, Jake," he jumps and the tool he's holding in his hand hits the floor with a metallic _clang._

"Bells," he says as he turns to face her, and his eyes are wide with shock at seeing her there. She watches the emotions flit across his face, self-preservation warring with cautious hope. In the end, self preservation wins, and he composes his features into a calm mask. "What are you doing here?" he asks, voice flat. "Shouldn't you be on your honeymoon?"

"No," she says, and at that one simple word hope floods his eyes again, hope and a kind of barely restrained joy. He takes a step toward her, starts to take another and then stops himself with effort.

"What does that mean?"

"It means…" and there's nothing else she can say, nothing she _should _say, other than the truth of what she feels. "It means I love you. It means I choose you."

There's nothing on this earth that can keep him away from her now. He crosses the remaining distance between them in three long strides, and then she's being hauled against his body, he's lifting her up and her legs are around his waist and he's kissing her, and his mouth is so warm, so inviting, so much better even than her memories. It's a long, long moment before he finally lowers her back to the ground and pulls her tight against his chest.

"Bells," he says softly, reverently, and she can feel his heart hammering against her cheek. "I love you, too."

"I was kind of hoping you did." That makes him laugh, and Bella wraps her arms around him and takes it all in, his warmth, his smell, his touch, his _love._

After a minute he says, "So let me get this straight. You had to get married, practically make me lose my mind at your reception, and then fly all the way to…where did you go?"

"An island off the coast of South America."

"Oh, okay, an _island_ off the coast of South America- anyway, you had to do all that to realize that you wanted to be with me?"

She shrugs in feigned nonchalance, and suddenly recalls something he said to her once, in what seems like another lifetime. "Easy as breathing, right?"

He laughs again, and Bella feels it rumble in his chest, the reverberations tickling her ear as she snuggles close again, feeling that for the first time ever, she's truly _home._

"Yeah," he says, and she can feel his lips in her hair. "Almost."


End file.
